


I Wanna Hold Your Hand

by lucifersfavoritechild



Category: All New X-Factor, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Plot, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, But it's also a sex story, Casual Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Edgeplay, Fuckbuddies, Happy Ending, I'm writing this for me and one other person, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, It's a love story, M/M, Masturbation, Rape Fantasy, Rough Sex, Smut, Unsafe Sex, accidental feelings, assholes to lovers, but you can also read it if you don't fear god, idiots to lovers, violence kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29646846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifersfavoritechild/pseuds/lucifersfavoritechild
Summary: Pietro doesn't like Remy. And Remy doesn't like Pietro.But they both like having sex with each other.
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Pietro Maximoff
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	1. Accidents Happen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [funkylittlebidiot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkylittlebidiot/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro really needs to stop fantasizing about Remy LeBeau. And he will. 
> 
> . . . 
> 
> Any day now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: masturbation, fantasy, non-consent fantasy, violence kink, accidental voyeurism for five seconds

It started as an accident.

Or at the very least something he hadn’t intended to repeat.

He’d always known that Remy was attractive, in the way that he knew the sky was blue. It was a fact, but not one that affected him. The two of them didn’t even get along and were perfectly happy to continue that way. It was just too bad that Pietro’s dick didn’t agree.

The first time he gave into the feelings that had been steadily building inside him, the team had just gotten back from fighting another bad guy with another set of non-descript robots. At one point, he’d thrown Remy over his shoulder and ran them up and down the overpriced Tamagotchi as the other mutant through charged cards around haphazardly until the damn thing stopped moving. Pietro probably would have forgotten it entirely in a week if they hadn’t both ended up covered in some kind of weird, green chemical that covered them almost head-to-toe and smelled faintly like a mixture of gasoline and the vegan aisle at a supermarket. That necessitated the use of the decam showers on the Raptor, locking themselves into the tiny not-bathroom and stripping down— 

And there was the problem. 

Pietro really _did_ try not to look. He wasn’t a pervert. But the room was _small_ , and the hot water was soothing, lulling him into a sense of security as he rolled his neck and just so happened to open his eyes at an inopportune angle . . .

Remy’s eyes were closed _(Thank God)_ as he faced the shower head, running soapy hands over his chest. He seemed eager to get clean, having already washed the green gunk out of his hair and off of most of his body while Pietro, normally so much faster, simply luxuriated in the steaming water. Stripped down to nothing, Pietro could tell that he was pleasantly muscled, not a bodybuilder, but more than a little firm, his soft cock long and thick between his legs. 

Face burning, Pietro quickly looked away, the image already burned into his head from the few seconds he’d been staring. He turned his back towards Remy and stubbornly refused to change position again, cleaning up quickly but not moving from place until after several minutes that felt like an eternity (literally, for him), he heard the other shower shut off, soon followed by the door opening and closing again. He looked around self-consciously, letting out a breath of relief when he saw that he was alone. And that might have been the end of it if he’d had more self-control. 

But that had never really been his strong point.

Pietro was still thinking, _Maybe just once wouldn’t be so bad,_ when he wrapped his hands around his already-hard cock. He didn’t bother with finesse or drawing it out (he usually didn’t have the patience for it anyway), just roughly jerking himself as he remembered the feeling of Remy’s body against his own as he ran, his arms wrapped tight around his waist or shoulders, the time Remy’s thighs clenched around him, so tight and strong— 

He came fast and messy, clinically cleaning himself up faster than he had with the threat of toxic chemicals hovering over him. Momentarily satisfied, he repressed the event as quickly as it had occurred, happy to chock it up to a fluke of adrenaline and built-up tension and move on. It wouldn't happen again.

* * *

It happened again.

If asked, Pietro wouldn't be able to pinpoint when it turned from the occasional half-baked daydream to an almost daily habit. At first, he tried to fight it, only giving in when he was too tired and aroused to bother pretending. Lights off, cheeks flushed with shame and embarrassment, he jerked off to thoughts of Remy, eyes flashing pink, uniform torn and burnt, the muscles of his arms and shoulders tense as he whirled around his bo staff. His thoughts were rarely explicitly sexual so much as angry and violent — Remy in battle, in a street fight, training with him, fast and strong and blissfully quiet. Somehow that was worse.

Over the weeks, a single fantasy came to dominate. He would lay in bed, staring at the door as his imagination superimposed images onto his vision. It started with Remy in the doorway, walking in slowly, trailing his fingers along the wall as he stared at Pietro, his gaze never wavering. His demonic eyes were sharp, cutting to Pietro's bones better than any knife. He would set his hand on a simple mirror Pietro had hanging and only a few seconds later, it burst, flashing pink and bright as broken glass scattered along the floor.

Lying in bed, Pietro's dick pulsed in his hand. The fantasy felt so real, he almost swore he could feel the charged energy dancing over his skin, giving him goosebumps. His hands were deliberately slow, brushing over the sensitive skin of his balls before squeezing the head for a quick burst of sensation. His lungs felt tight.

The imagined Remy would continue like that, destroying framed photos and random books or pieces of equipment strewn around the room and on top of his dresser before finally coming to a stop beside the bed, staring down at him. 

Sometimes the fantasy ended there. Pietro, knowing what always came next if he didn't, would add more lube to his hand and pull himself off in quick, angry movements before making his way to the ensuite bathroom to freshen up. When he laid down, it would almost be easy to believe nothing had happened.

Today was not one of those days.

When he gave in and let the fantasy run its course, Remy climbs onto the bed, straddling him, eyes dark and determined. Pietro would struggle _(not really, he was sure he could break Remy's neck just by carrying him at a bad angle as he ran, but this wasn't real and he didn't have to act like it was),_ but Remy would slap him, twice sometimes, painful backhands that caught his cheek with the hard bones of his knuckles. Pietro would still be gasping for breath as he was turned onto his stomach, clothes torn away until he was pale and bare beneath those black-and-red eyes.

He'd scream when Remy first pushed into him, but the noise caught in his throat. Then it only took a few painful thrusts — hip bones bracing against his ass, body full and stretched in a way that was foreign to him but that he imagined so easily — before he surrendered completely, burying his face in a pillow and biting down on his lip until he tasted blood. The weight above him would be both oppressive and protective as Remy forced his cock deeper inside him, bringing to life all those feelings and sensations that Pietro normally refused to contemplate as his own erection unwillingly rutted against the bed—

He always came with the sound of Remy muttering, "Mine," echoing through his ear. The fantasy broke in the milliseconds after cum splattered across his hand and stomach and sheets, making him feel almost as dirty as the thought of what he was doing. 

After that, no amount of trying to justify or minimalize it made him feel better. Muscles more weary than he would be after a jaunt around the equator, head clouded with uncertain emotions and a gathering cloud of shame, he didn't even bother to shower or change his sheets. He just half-heartedly wiped the cum off himself with whatever towel or washcloth happened to be lying around somewhere before flopping onto the dry portion of his bed and going to sleep.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I started thinking about a couple of days ago, thought "oh that could be a few fun chapters of smut", and then it grew emotions ....... I blame myself.
> 
> (ALSO, I'm already working on another WIP and have classes, so please don't hate me if updates are sporadic or non-existent)
> 
> Title inspired by "Kissaphobic" by Make Out Monday


	2. That Happened Quickly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro and Remy have an argument . . . which leads to things.
> 
> Lots of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: hate/angry sex, edgeplay, masochism, semi-public sex, uniforms, bad decisions, unsafe sex, painful sex, dirty talk

So yeah, it was pretty fucking annoying that he was attracted to someone he hated so much.

On the bright side, it at least kept him from embarrassing himself in public. He didn’t get lost in Remy red-and-black eyes, or drool over him while drawing repetitive little hearts in a journal (which would have been hard seeing as he didn’t have a journal). Instead, they just sniped at each other with easy belligerence until one of them got tired or Lorna told them to knock it off. And they might have continued like that . . . but. Well. Self-control.

They were still snarking when the team returned from their Mission of the Week™. Lorna ignored them completely as she headed up to her rooms, and Danger left to do . . . whatever it was Danger did. Pietro immediately went to the kitchen, pulling out bread and sandwich meats from the fridge (he was always starving after a fight), ears perked to listen to Remy’s gripes.

“. . . and you could’ve given me some warning before yankin’ me off the ground and throwing me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes! Almost broke my neck.”

“You look alive to me,” Pietro said with a shrug. “You know, unfortunately.”

“It’s funny that you think you’re funny.”

“No, I think I’m _hilarious.”_

“What you ought to do is find somethin’ to keep your mouth shut.”

 _Don’t say it,_ Pietro thought. “Are you offering?”

Unfortunately, he only thought it after he’d spoken.

Remy’s brows shot up. He seemed genuinely surprised for a moment before smirking. “You askin’?”

Pietro felt his cheeks blaze. Shame buried itself in the back of his throat.

He finished making his food, eating fast enough that Remy just blinked at him when he was done. "I'm going to my room. Don't bother me unless it's an em—"

Remy laughed, grabbing his wrist and whirling him back around, keeping him in the kitchen. “Oh, come on Cher, no shame in admitting ya’ want something—”

“I don’t _want_ you,” Pietro snapped furiously. “Let go of me.”

Remy did the exact opposite, pressing him close against the kitchen island, their bodies lined up. His hands held Pietro’s waist, and he was furious with himself for only thinking of how strong they felt. Remy leaned down into his space, so close that his lips brushed Pietro’s jaw when he spoke. “What do ya’ say, Quick? Wanna go a few rounds on a bed instead of a mat?” He squeezed Pietro’s hips. “Bet I could show you all kinds of things that silver little head of yours never thought of—”

Pietro moved quickly, grabbing Remy by the leg and knocking him on the floor. Remy yelped, but before Pietro could shoot back a cutting remark, the other mutant wrapped a hand around each of his wrists, twisting them around so Pietro was on the bottom as they fell. He sucked in a painful breath as the wind was knocked out of him. Remy was so close it hurt, still holding onto his wrists, locking him in place. Pietro could feel every movement, every breath or shift of position. The sensible part of him screamed to throw Remy off and leave to lick his wounds. Every other part of him wanted to stay right there for as long as mutantly possible.

Remy froze suddenly, his eyes widening, so slightly that Pietro wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so intently focused on every last thing the other man did. Then Remy rocked forward, drawing his stomach against Pietro’s clothed erection. 

Well. Death by humiliation wasn’t exactly how he’d though he would go, but he’d had a good run. No point in dragging it out.

Remy drew back, staring at him. Pietro, doing his damndest not to burst into flames, refused to look away. 

Then Remy leaned down as he rutted forward, dragging his burgeoning erection against Pietro’s.

Pietro’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as Remy buried his face in the crook of his neck, gently nibbling at his pulse point. Remy’s long hair brushed against his sensitive skin, giving him goosebumps. Their uniforms were skin tight, but he couldn’t help but think they still covered too much right now. Pietro’s hands flailed about before grabbing at Remy’s shoulders, holding him close. “More,” Pietro muttered, shocking himself. “More, I need . . . _fuck_ , I want . . .”

“What do you want, Cher?” Remy asked, curling the words over in his mouth, sounding sultry and _so_ fucking hot. His hands tightened around Pietro’s wrists. He’d have bruises later. “Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck me,” Pietro muttered, feeling another rush of blood run to his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed. “ _Please_ fuck me. Please, I need—”

“I’ve got ya’,” Remy said, sitting back on his knees and wrapping his hands around Pietro’s firm thighs. “I know what you need.”

With a sudden show of strength, Remy flipped him onto his stomach. Before Pietro could get any leverage, Remy’s hands were on his back, finding the invisible seams of the X-Factor uniforms and pulling it open, getting the damn thing down to the biceps before urging Pietro to help. “C’mon,” Remy muttered, making a pleased noise when Pietro removed the sleeves in a blue of yellow and white. “C’mon,” he said again, peeling the rest down his back and legs, until Pietro was kicking it off. 

Remy ran a hand over his flank, openly ogling the stark lines and pale skin of Pietro’s body. “Good boy.” He smirked when Pietro’s cock jumped at the praise and brought down a harsh hand on his ass, smacking it. Pietro sucked jerked forward and would have glared at him if he wasn’t too busy moaning. “ _Very_ good boy.”

Pietro, settling on his arms and knees to support his weight, gave him an unimpressed look that took all of his concentration. “Thought you said you were gonna fuck me. Plan on getting around to it at any point?”

“Never did learn to take things slow, did ya’?”

“I can’t say I’m enjoying the experience—”

Remy smacked his ass again without warning, going for the other cheek so Pietro had a matching pair of burning red handprints, obscenely bright against his pale skin. Pietro bit down on his lip to keep from letting out an embarrassing noise _(Honestly, it’s too late for that)._

Remy stood up behind him, looking around the horrendously yellow kitchen as he pulled his own uniform off, muttering, “Couldn’t have seduced me somewhere with lube?”

Pietro narrowed his eyes incredulously. _“Seduced_ you—”

Remy ignored him, his eyes landing on a battle of hand lotion alongside the soap at the sink. He picked it up, checking the label. _Wildflower Honey._ “Good enough.”

Pietro rolled his eyes. “Comforting.”

Remy slid back into position behind him, pumping lotion into his hand. “Quite a mouth on you, Quicksilver. Do you wanna be spanked again?”

“Yes,” Pietro without thinking. 

Remy chuckled, leaning down to murmur in his ear. “Then keep your mouth shut and earn it.”

A knot lodged itself in Pietro’s mouth. It shocked him how much he wanted to please Remy, but he did. His face and ass were burning, his arms trembled with the will it took to hold himself upright when all he could think of was Remy holding him down and using him properly, and the muscles of his shoulders strained against themselves eagerly. He nodded and looked down at the tiled floor, waiting. 

Remy gave him a surprised, considering look, before smirking and returning to the task at hand. Coating his fingers in sweetly-scented lotion, he curled a hand around one of Pietro’s cheeks and prodded at his hole, feeling Pietro tense under his ministrations. “I’ve got ya’, chéri. Just relax and hold still.”

Pietro forced himself to obey, unclenching his muscles and teeth. Despite himself, his eyes slammed shut. Every nerve in his body was standing at attention, desperate for stimulation. His cock, untouched since Remy had stopped rubbing off on him, was leaking precum against his stomach, painting white streaks along the muscles of his abdomen. He kept waiting for the absurdity of the situation to strike him, but it didn’t. He’d never had sex with a man before, rarely so much as fingered himself, and there was not a single thing he wanted more in the world than for Remy to fuck him. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Remy eased two fingers into him, smoothly pumping them in and out, as fast as he reasonably could. Pietro squirmed under him, part uncomfortable, part desperate. _“Now,”_ he blurted out, only remembering he wasn’t supposed to speak after it was already done. _Fuck it, might as well._ “Please, please, please, fuck me _now,_ I want it so bad . . .”

“Gimme a minute,” Remy said, seeming in no hurry. “Don’t wanna hurt you—”

“You have _no idea_ how much I want you to hurt me.”

A beat passed. Pietro struggled to bring his breathing under control, staying nice and quiet with his chin to his sternum. Then Remy grabbed him by the hips, pulling him back as he shoved his cock in deep with one harsh movement. 

Pietro keened, cutting the sound off halfway through, as though only _now_ remembering that there were other people in the building. Somehow, that only made him hornier. 

Remy set a hand _(and he had been so right about how good those hands were)_ between his shoulders and pushed him down, holding him to the ground as he fucked him. As though sensing his thoughts, he leaned down, voice low and gravelly when he whispered, “You must be so desperate, chéri. Getting fucked on your hands and knees when anyone could walk in and see. Would you even care if they did? Try an’ push me off, blushing so pretty I’d wanna throw you back down? Or would you not even notice? Better yet, not _care._ Give ‘em a show and beg for more while I fuck you in front of everyone?”

 _Fuck,_ Pietro could see it. Faceless people standing around, fully clothed, watching with a sort of fascinated disgust as Pietro submitted entirely to his worst fantasies. He honestly didn’t know if he’d be able to stop if someone did walk in. Remy’s cock felt unimaginably huge inside him, far bigger than the two fingers Pietro’s had used when he was feeling particularly weak-willed. He understood why Remy’d wanted to prep him longer. Every drag of skin against sensitive skin was rough and nerve-wracking. Remy had slicked his erection with extra lotion, but it wasn’t enough and he could tell. His body wasn’t anywhere close to being used to the treatment. The stretch burned and screamed. It _hurt._

He never wanted it to end.

Eyes rolling and fluttering shut, Pietro pillowed his cheek on his arms, allowing himself to be rocked forward with every press of cock, Remy’s arms on either side of his head, closing him in. He was pretty sure that Remy was only an inch taller than him, if that, but he felt absolutely _massive_ laid out on top of him, closing him in, his chest to Pietro’s shoulders, his hips smacking Pietro’s ass with every thrust. And he never slowed down, never paused in his movements or lost focus (and thank _God_ he didn’t, because Pietro would have screamed then and their caught-in-the-moment fantasy would have quickly become a reality and he honestly didn’t know if he’d be able to stop). 

He was perfectly, brutally unrelenting. 

Sometimes he’d talk, usually a raspy whisper, but Pietro was so high on bliss, part of him floating through the air and the other part painfully grounded by the feeling of a too-big cock in his ass, that he only caught snippets. Things like “good boy”, and “so tight”, and “perfect slut”. Every time it happened, something warm unfurled in his chest. Like this was right where he wanted to be.

He could tell immediately when Remy was close — his breaths coming in rough hitches, his thrusts speeding up and drawing it out less, like a piston directly hitting what he could only guess was his prostate (and _that_ was new too, something that felt sharp and deep and made his toes curl and his calves tremble). Under his breath, Remy muttered, _“Fuck.”_ Moving suddenly, he grabbed a fistful of white hair and yanked Pietro’s head back, sinking his teeth deep into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Pietro threw a hand up to cover his mouth, unable to keep from letting out a loud, pained shout. His blood was burning him alive.

“How do you want it?” Remy demanded. “C’mon, where do you want me to—”

“Inside me,” Pietro said in a rush, unthinking. _“Please,_ come inside me. _FUCK, I need it, I want— I need it.”_

Growling, the hand that Remy’d had in his hair slid down over his neck and to his chest, drawing his nails down sweaty skin, leaving bright red marks. It started to wrap around Pietro’s cock, but for the first time in a while, Pietro stopped him, shaking his head and reaching down to grab Remy’s wrist and hold him still. _“No._ Just this.” He wanted it just like this, wanted to feel used and filthy, like he was just a tool for Remy’s pleasure, like he didn’t even deserve to be jerked off properly.

Remy grunted harshly, digging his blunt nails into Pietro’s waist instead. Pietro nodded rapidly, easily sinking back into that cloudy haze — but it was sharper now, sharp and bright, and he almost instinctively clenched down around Remy’s cock and, _oh FUCK,_ that _hurt_ so well— 

Remy came in a rush, wrapping a muscular arm across Pietro’s collarbones and holding him close as he stilled, his entire body tensing before suddenly letting go. His cock jerked inside him one last time, a last bruising thrust against his prostate as Remy flooded his insides. 

That was what did it. Pietro felt himself go slack, cock pulsing against his stomach, spurting ropes of white across his abdomen. He would have collapsed on the kitchen floor if it weren’t for Remy holding him up. His entire body was sore, aching, and spent. He’d never had less energy in his _life._ He wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for a thousand years.

Feeling Remy press open-mouthed kisses to the back of his neck, he thought, _A bed would probably be a good start to that._

Staring down at the kitchen tiles, the thought hit him again like a truck. _A bed would probably be a good start to that._ Then he realized he was kneeling in the middle of the X-Factor’s communal kitchen with Remy LeBeau’s slowly softening cock and sticky cum inside him.

His blood turned cold. For a moment, he would have sworn he couldn’t breathe if he’d been capable of thought. 

The world existed like that for a moment, balanced on the edge of a playing card. Then Pietro was scrambling forward, twisting every which way and smacking his palms against Remy’s chest. “Get off— _get off me!”_

Remy grumbled something that Pietro didn’t pay attention to before rolling off, his cock sliding out with a wet noise that made Pietro cringe as much as the decidedly _un_ sexy shot of pain up his spine did. Stomach rolling, Pietro scrambled for his uniform, debating whether it was worth it to get dressed or if he should just run away before he was forced to speak. 

“Slow down, Cher—”

Running it was.

Without a moment of hesitation, Pietro gathered his clothes and shoes in his arms and was gone, speeding upstairs to his apartment, tapping his foot impatiently when he had to wait two seconds for the voice-controlled door to open. The door closed behind him. He slinked into his room, tossing his uniform to the floor before pacing in front of the bed, running his hands through his hair. He was filthy, with a new layer of sweat on top of the usual battle-grime and random patches of dried blood and/or ooze. Remy’s cum was cooling inside his ass, dirtying his thighs and adding a new, filthy dynamic to his walk. Bruises were forming on his waist and hips and shoulder. His ass and chest had heated red marks. He stared at himself in a floor-length mirror, feeling queasy. He should get in the shower. He should scrub himself clean until no one would be able to tell what he’d done. 

So why did he just want to shove his fingers into his cum-filled hole and bring himself off with just that and the memory of Remy on top of him?

Pietro jerked away from the mirror, gritting his teeth. _No._ No! It was a terrible habit that had gotten him in this position _(under Remy, hands braced on the linoleum floor, hard cock bruising his insides)_ and _clearly_ it had fucked with his head. 

_Never again,_ Pietro thought furiously, opening the ensuite door and turning the hot water on. _Not once. I’m going to scrub Remy off me, go to sleep, and act like nothing happened in the morning. If he wants to argue about it, I’ll tell him he’s crazy._ It was a plan. Not a good one, but serviceable. He could just forget it ever happened. 

If the bruises on his wrists let him.  
  



	3. Resistance Is Futile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy and Pietro come to a "mutually beneficial agreement" and get down to it. Immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: light begging, hate sex, light hair-pulling, blowjobs, frottage, dirty talk, dominance/submission

"You had sex with Pietro Maximoff.”

Truly, of all the sentences Remy wanted to be greeted with first thing in the morning, that  _ had _ to be in the bottom eight. 

Remy, refusing to acknowledge the sunlight streaming in through the windows, flopped onto his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head, causing one of the cats to yowl as they were forced out of their comfy resting spot on his chest. “Danger, didn’t I ask you  _ not _ to come into my room while I’m asleep? And naked?”

“You were not that specific.”

“My mistake.” Groaning, Remy turned to look at the sentient form of A.I. standing in his room (he needed to start locking the doors; not that it would stop her, but maybe it would help get the point across). “What?”

“You have not responded to my original statement. You have Pietro Maximoff’s DNA on your body in a manner that could only have come to be if the two of you were intimate.”

A beat passed. “Well,  _ intimate _ just doesn’t seem like the right word.”

Danger didn’t exactly change expression (she was still getting used to having them again), but Remy nonetheless felt as though she’d narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you deny it?”

Oh, how Remy wanted to say yes. 

“No,” he muttered. 

Danger paused, seeming surprised by his quick surrender. “I was under the impression that you did not care for each other.”

“We don’t.”

Another pause. “Then why—”

_ “Danger,” _ Remy began, finally sitting up. Figaro, meowing his annoyance at this development, leapt up onto his shoulder, swatting at his ear. “Sometimes, humans or mutants or  _ whatever, _ ain’t gotta like each other to have sex. Alright? Sometimes you’re stressed an’ emotional and ya’ got all this pent-up energy and you just need to put it somewhere.” And sometimes “somewhere” turned out to be Quicksilver’s ass. He didn’t make the rules. “It didn’t mean anything but that.”

Danger stared at him for a moment, appearing to consider this. Remy prepared himself for an argument.

“Understood.”

Apparently not caring to stand in his room and question him any longer, Danger turned to leave. Remy, sighing, laid back down before jumping up. “And for the love of God,  _ please  _ don’t mention this to anyone else!”

* * *

They managed to avoid each other for the entire morning before the fledgling team had to report to Snow’s office. The giant tube that passed for an elevator didn’t leave much space with four people in it. Pietro and Remy were shoulder-to-shoulder behind Lorna and Danger, the former kicking himself for not getting in soon enough to stand beside his sister. Remy wondered how the hell he’d ended up in this situation in the first place.

It was safe to say that neither of them actually processed anything said at the impromptu “meeting”. Pietro, at least, was bolstered by the fact that he couldn’t possibly care less anyway. A good thing, since all he could focus on was how close Remy was standing, the way he intermittently stretched his arms over his head like a yawning cat, eyes glinting behind red sunglasses. He was irritatingly attractive and seemed completely unfazed. Pietro wanted to throttle him. Or suck his cock. The latter was more concerning, honestly.

Pietro, arching a brow when Snow spoke and hoping the others interpreted that as paying attention, leaned back against a wall, his hideously yellow hoodie riding up and exposing a pale stretch of his abdomen before falling back down. For a moment, Remy stopped, standing still as he stared at Pietro’s stomach before looking up at him and hurriedly turning away. 

Hm. Not  _ entirely  _ unaffected, then. Pietro didn’t know if that was better or worse.

The meeting (about? unclear) came to an end and the others cleared out. Tossing a metal paperweight in his hand, Pietro stayed behind, not pausing in the repetitive motion when Remy did the same. 

They looked at each other. Pietro didn’t stop tossing the chrome ball.

Remy stood across from him, standing back against a desk with his knee pulled up and one arm resting on it. He smiled, smug. “You sure left in a hurry last night.”

Pietro scowled, hackles raising. “Don’t see why I wouldn't. I got what I wanted, you got what you wanted.”

“Such a sweet-talker.”

Pietro threw the ball at his head and considered himself merciful for not throwing it fast enough to smash a hole through his skull. 

Remy caught it, smirking. “Now, is that anyway to treat someone who’s been inside you?”

Well, now Pietro kind of wished he had the ball back. 

“Gambit, if you want to say something,  _ say it.” _

The smirk slowly slipped from Remy’s face. Pietro couldn’t decipher his expression, but there was something suspiciously close to worry in his eyes. 

“Like I said. You ran off fast yesterday. And I didn’t exactly take my time getting you ready. Excuse  _ me  _ for wantin’ to make sure you were okay.”

It took Pietro a full second to process that before rolling his eyes.  _ “Dear God, _ LeBeau. I’m not a child. I’m definitely not a blushing virgin you defiled.” Well, it had been his first time with another man . . . but there was absolutely no reason to tell Remy that. “We had sex, now it’s over. No need to even talk about it this much.”

“Really, Cher?” Remy asked, that joking,  _ mocking _ tone back. “You’re breaking my heart, Speedy.”

Pietro’s eye twitched. 

Remy took a step forward, then another, soon standing  _ way _ too close to him. There was nowhere to back up, and Pietro wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction if there had been. Remy leaned in, his face a hair’s breadth away. When he spoke, Pietro had to stay completely still so Remy’s lips didn’t brush against his jaw. “Glad we had this chat then.”

Remy immediately backed up and walked off, waving a hand at him. “See ya’ in the field.”

Pietro glared at the back of his skull and was in such a bad mood that he didn’t even look at his ass. 

* * *

The day passed, then another, and more. The tension between them slowly returned to its usual level and reverted back to mutual irritation. Pietro started to have hope that he might actually be able to look at Remy without those conflicting, lustful feelings one day.

But that day was not today. 

Pietro stretched his arms behind his back as he came to a sudden standstill, looking around the burning, devastated lab (all white and chrome,  _ very _ evil scientist chic) with mild satisfaction. “I feel like we’re done.”

Lorna levitated down beside him, throwing Evil Anti-Mutant Inventor of the month (#4) on the floor, bound as he was by the metal wires wrapped around his chest. “What do you think, we drop this guy off at Serval and get take-out when we get home?”

Pietro nodded, ignoring Remy as he joined the group, fingers still flickering pink from a round of bad-guy solitaire (apparently he wasn’t very good at ignoring Remy). "I could go for a quesadilla. Or five."

"What," Remy drawled, "can't find anything better to do with your mouth—" He winced, clutching his side with a sudden expression of pain. 

Shockingly, this was not caused by Pietro.

"Gambit," Lorna said, looking over at him, "you okay?"

Remy waved her off. "'M fine. Just a little grazed."

Despite himself, a flicker of concern shone in Pietro's eyes. He reached out and removed Remy's hand from his flank, pressing his own fingers over the bloody wound. It was messy, but shallow. He would be fine with a few stitches. "It looks worse than it is.” 

Remy’s muscles flexed and tensed beneath his hand, firm and deceptively strong. He looked up and only then realized what he was doing. Remy was staring right at him, mouth just barely open, pupils large and dark, his irises a barely visible ring of red. For once, he seemed as affected by Pietro as Pietro was by him. 

Pietro snatched his hand back, turning on his heel so the others didn’t see the cascade of emotions on his face. He spat out, “Unlike you, of course.” Even that sounded kind of weak and defeated. 

In hindsight, it was stupid to think he could resist.

* * *

He thought about what he would do next on the flight home, quickly coming to a decision. Remy had been stitched up on the Raptor by Danger, and announced his intentions to take a long, hot shower with a lascivious look at no one in particular. Pietro rolled his eyes, but waited until he was sure Remy would be in the bathroom before heading up to his apartment.

He’d never been in Remy’s rooms before. It was cleaner than he would have thought, but didn’t seem lived-in, as though he didn’t spend much time there. Remy’s three cats, none of whom had ever seen Pietro before, glanced at him, meowed a few times, and returned to their naps. Good thing he didn’t have any dogs.

Pietro found the bedroom in the same spot as his own was. There was an ensuite bathroom where he could hear Remy singing in the shower (shockingly, the sound did not make him want to tear his own ears off). Pietro sat down on the bed with a pile of books to entertain himself while he waited. He was halfway through the fifth when the bathroom door opened. Remy stood in the doorway, head bent over as he dried his hair with a towel, entirely naked, droplets of water trailing down his chest and legs and cock. 

“Feeling better?” Pietro asked cheerily.

Remy jumped, backing into a wall and knocking his shoulder into it, cursing while he dropped the towel down to his waist, covering himself. Pietro arched a brow. “Getting modest  _ now? _ Really?”

“The hell you doin’ in my room, Pietro?” Remy demanded, closing his bathroom door, but not making a move to get dressed.

Pietro shrugged. “I can’t just want to check up on my teammate?”

“Historically? No.”

“Ouch.” Pietro closed his book and tossed it to the stack on the nightstand, ignoring Remy’s pointed glance. “Fine. I don’t actually care if you bleed out in your bathroom.”

“Merci.”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“That  _ also _ sounds like a lie.”

Pietro rolled his eyes — something he did exponentially more now than a month ago it seemed.  _ Well, coyness has never gotten anyone anywhere  _ (citation needed).  _ No point in beating around the bush.  _ “Do you want to have sex again?” 

Remy stared at him. Blinked. Stared some more. “Are you fuckin’ with me?”

“. . . Trying to.”

Remy thought about that for a second before chuckling lowly. The sound was almost as attractive as the sight of his unadorned body on display.  _ Almost. _ “You ran off awful fast last time.” Despite his flirty expression, there was a hint of wariness or suspicion in his eyes. “What changed?”

Pietro stared back, running through a variety of answers in his head — _I'll_ _explode if you don't touch me soon, Every time I go to sleep I dream of you above me, I'm tired of lying to myself —_ and finally said, "I just really want to suck your cock."

Remy’s eyes immediately brightened. The corner of his mouth ticking up into a smirk, he walked towards the bed, coming to a stop at the same time as he dropped his towel to the floor. He was half-hard already, flushed and warm from the hot shower, muscles outlined by stray water droplets. His hand reached out to cup Pietro’s face, thumb pressing on his lower lip, opening his mouth. “Now, you don’t  _ sound  _ too enthusiastic. I’m not convinced you really  _ want  _ to suck my cock. Maybe you should show me."

Pietro's heart thudded, making it sound even more like a hummingbird's than usual. He knelt on the edge of the bed, lowering his head so that Remy’s erection was only a few inches away from his mouth. He exhaled, and the heat of his breath made Remy's cock jerk. His nails scratched soft pink lines into Remy's thighs before his hands settled restlessly on them. Head turned up, he tried his very best to look properly needy.  _ "Please _ let me suck your cock, Remy. You have no idea how much I want it inside me, how much I want to taste you. It’s all I can think about.  _ Please." _

“. . . Well, now you’re layin’ it on kinda thick—”

With the eye-roll to end all eye-rolls, Pietro ducked his head down and took the head of Remy’s cock into his mouth, moving one hand to cup his balls. Above him, Remy sucked in a breath, curling a hand into Pietro’s pale hair, cursing.  _ "Fuck, Cher—" _

Pietro half-listened to him, delighting in the tight grip of fingers pulling and releasing his hair. His mouth was so  _ full,  _ even better than he'd dreamed of it being. He didn't even know  _ why, _ but it just felt so good being on his knees, being the one making Remy sound like that. It was an effort in concentration, trying to remember what other people had done to him and apply it as best he could — eagerly taking Remy deeper into his mouth until it was just on the right side of painful (which was to say, a little over the line), laving the sensitive head with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks and  _ sucking. _ Judging by the steady stream of moans and encouraging noises Remy was making, it was working. 

Pietro groaned in disappointment when Remy suddenly pulled him off his cock. He tried to lean back down, desperate to have it back in his mouth, but Remy’s hand tightened in his hair, holding him in place. Remy chuckled, but he was just as affected as Pietro, voice rough and husky. His hand slid down to Pietro’s collarbone, giving him a hard shove so he fell back on the bed. Pietro looked up pleadingly.  _ “Please—” _

“Hold on,” Remy muttered, following him onto the bed and leaning over to his nightstand, rummaging around in a drawer. He cast a faux-annoyed look at Pietro when the latter ran a hand down Remy’s side and wrapped it around his wet cock, giving him several hard and fast strokes, catching pre-cum with his fingers. Remy caught his wrist and pushed it back to a pillow, watching lustfully when Pietro rolled his head over and licked the milky beads of white away. “You best stop bein’ cheeky if you don’t want me to punish you.”

Pietro arched a well-shaped brow. “And if I want you to punish me?”

“. . . Then you better stop or I won’t.”

Pietro pouted, but finally stopped moving, arms sprawled on either side of his head, balls drawn up tight and straining cock leaking against his stomach. Remy made an appreciative noise, finding the bottle of lube he’d been looking for and sitting back on his knees, opening it and squirting a good amount into his palm. When Pietro squirmed in anticipation, Remy returned his mocking brow.

“Oh? You think you deserve to be fucked? Actin’ like a brat, comin’ in here and demanding my attention, refusin’ to stay still when I want you to?”

Pietro stilled, looking genuinely worried for a moment. “. . . No.”

Remy stared down at him, getting an idea. He spread lube over his erection in slow, drawn-out strokes. “No  _ what?” _

Pietro swallowed to clear his throat, his pupils so dilated that there was only a thin ring of color around them. “No, sir.”

Remy’s mouth curled up into a grin. “No.” Remy leaned down, a hand on either side of Pietro’s head, lining their cocks up, pressing their bodies together, heat to heat. “You don’t.”

Pietro almost keened when Remy started to move, tossing his head back. Part of him still wanted to scream at Remy to fuck his ass like he’d been dreaming about, but the other part was being taken apart by every movement. On one level, it was similar to jerking off on his own, skin to skin, fast, hurried movements. On another, it wasn’t that at all. It was Remy, breathing harshly into his ear, the press of his chest and arms closing around Pietro’s body and cutting him off from the rest of the world. It was feeling every jerk and twitch of the other man’s perfect cock as they rutted against each other, the anticipation of wondering if Remy was about to cover his own aching erection in cum. Their breaths mixed. Pietro spread his legs, bringing his knees up so they framed Remy’s hips, giving him more room to work. Every now and then, their gazes would catch and they would stare, desperate wanting and pleasure reflected in the other. 

Pietro’s hand wandered down, tracing the stiff muscles of Remy’s stomach. He looked up pleadingly. “Can I?”

Remy nodded, fingers curling into the sheets. “Gimme your hand.”

Pietro obeyed, raising it for Remy to see. The other man stilled in his movements, balancing enough to grab Pietro’s hand and licking long stripes over the palm. “Get us off, chéri. I wanna come all over you and watch you squirm.”

Shivering, Pietro did as he was told, wrapping his hand around their cocks and tightening his hold as best he could. His hand wasn’t quite big enough to fully reach around both of them, but he managed as best he could, gathering slick from Remy’s cock and spreading it over both of them. He bit down on his lip, eyes growing distant and hazy even as he kept going, rutting against Remy as his hand worked faster and faster, bringing both of them closer to the edge. Every tiny movement was like a bolt of lightning to his nerves, whether it was his cock or Remy’s chest moving against his nipples or the man’s breath landing on the sensitive skin of his neck. It wasn’t long before his entire body started to tense, burning anticipation filling every ounce of him. 

His free hand scrambled over Remy’s back, scratching him, the other growing fast and sloppy.  _ “Please,” _ Pietro sobbed,  _ “please let me come—” _

_ “Come on baby,”  _ Remy rasped, his cock hot and tight and leaking against him,  _ “Come for me. Let me take care of you. Come on.” _

His release hit Pietro like a blow to the spine, knocking him off his feet and ringing through his bones. His back arched, mouth open in a shout he didn’t try to contain. Cum splattering over his chest and stomach, he relaxed into the bed, practically melting. He barely managed to draw his eyes open soon enough to see Remy finish himself off, pulled back so that when he came, face twisted in pleasure, his release fell on Pietro’s spent cock, making the over-sensitive organ twitch one last time before it gave out. Remy collapsed beside him on the bed, looking every bit like the cat that got the cream as he grinned up at the ceiling. 

After several minutes of blissful silence, Remy pointed out, “This is a bad idea.”

Pietro rolled his eyes. “We’re well past that.”   
  



End file.
